Splinter's Rose
by Mikell
Summary: The Way of the Tea is a way of acknowledging the unrepeatable moments in time that mark what is most important in our lives, a celebration of relationship. Splinter/OC Sequel to Splintered Hearts


**A/N: A Japanese tea ceremony, also known as the Way of Tea, is a unique tradition, meant to celebrate the idea that each meeting, whether between friends or strangers, can only happen in its own unique sequence one time, and that singular moment in time can never be repeated exactly again. The tea ceremony is a reminder of the transient nature of life, love and relationships. At its heart, the ceremony is a way of celebrating the relationships precious to the participants, and the time they spend in each others' company.**

**If you're uncertain of the terms, scroll to the bottom for a vocabulary lesson. ;)  
><strong>

**The song playing in the background is The Rose, by Bette Middler.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>~Splinter's Rose~<strong>_

The water trickled into the small pot, clear, sparkling, perfect. The faint sizzle would have told Splinter that the coals under the pot were hot enough, even if the scent of burning and the heat that threatened to singe the fur on the backs of his slender fingers hadn't.

_**Some say love, it is a river  
>That drowns the tender reed.<strong>_

Splinter looked up from his preparations as Lucille entered the room. He watched as she paused a moment, staring at the scroll he'd placed just inside the doorway, at the front edge of the tatami mats. The candlelight seemed to dance, shimmering off the gold silk of her kimono. Her hair was swept up in as close an approximation of the traditional style as Austin could manage with her aunt's fine brown curls.

The sight of her efforts to immerse herself in the experience, to understand this precious custom, sharpened Splinter's regret that he lacked the proper space for a true tea ceremony. His quarters would have to do for this simplified demonstration. His whiskers twitched slightly as his son's voice echoed in his memory.

_You're doing a tea ceremony for your first date, Sensei? Weird._

_It's not a _date_, Michelangelo_. Leonardo had spoken up quickly.

Splinter understood his son's reservations. He had been afraid to acknowledge his growing attraction to the human woman at first as well… and his own stubborn denial had nearly cost him the opportunity to know what had come to be between them. Fortunately, Lucille was stronger than anyone he'd known before, save perhaps Yoshi himself, and she hadn't been willing, in the end, to let his foolish pride stand between them. In her quiet way, she'd made it clear that he wasn't going to be allowed to push her away, even for her own "good".

_**Some say love, it is a razor,  
>That leaves your soul to bleed.<strong>_

Splinter shook off his momentary regret. His mistakes had been set right, and he was determined to live in the present, to leave the past where it belonged. As to the future… He watched the way she reached out, her delicate fingers not quite touching the scroll, and a different kind of thrill sent a shiver down his spine, though he contained it out of habit. She glanced at him questioningly, and he made a mental note to explain the kanji characters for harmony, purity, tranquility and respect, once the formal restrictions of the first part of the ceremony were lifted. Feeling slightly awkward, he knelt to adjust the coals under the brazier with the metal _hibashi_, all the while watching her surreptitiously. A smile tugged at his mouth as her eyes flickered over the tatami mats.

_Checking the placement, no doubt. Leonardo surely explained the impropriety of stepping on the center mat._

She moved carefully, avoiding the seams, and Splinter's breath caught. For a moment he could only watch as the golden silk moved and flowed with her steps, rustling faintly as she moved. It seemed as if the sun itself had walked into the room and was approaching him, bringing its light and warmth closer.

_**Some say love, it is a hunger  
>An endless, aching need.<strong>_

He noticed with approval that she remembered the proper position for her folded fan, though her stance was a bit awkward as she took her bow.

"_Doumo irasshaimase_, Lucille-san," he greeted, inviting her to take a seat.

She shifted, reminding him strongly of his sons at their first tea ceremony, almost two decades ago in this very room, and he had to suppress a smile.

"Umm… _konichiwa_," she replied a bit uncertainly.

He couldn't hold back a snort of laughter.

_Close enough_.

She approached the table, looking hesitant. His eyes flickered toward the traditional space for the first guest at a tea ceremony, and he saw the relief in her eyes as she moved to the spot. She knelt gracefully, taking the traditional _seiza_ position on her knees, laying her fan on the mat in front of her and folding her hands in her lap as if she'd done it a hundred times before.

He nodded in approval, an emotion close to pride rising in him at how careful she was to try and follow the traditions Leonardo and Austin had been teaching her. How many times had he seen Tang Shen take that very position at the table of The Ancient One? Lucille's calmly gathered grace brought the lost love of his master Yoshi to his mind so strongly he was certain he caught the faint scent of the lotus Shen wore in her hair.

_**I say love, it is a flower,  
>And you its only seed.<strong>_

"I am honored by your presence," he said softly, calling upon his habitual discipline to steady his voice.

"I am honored by your invitation," responded Lucille. The soft rich tones of her voice lay on his ears like fine chocolate on the tongue, smooth, indulgent. He felt he could gladly sit forever and simply listen to the sound of her voice, needing nothing else, neither food nor drink, to sustain him.

Rather than finding reassurance in the formality of tradition, Splinter found himself fighting down a familiar restless feeling brought on by her presence. The desire to feel her fingers against his neck again, to brush his palm against her silken cheek and stare into those endless brown eyes that gazed back into his with acceptance and… yes, he dared to admit, even love, was strong as the pull of the ocean's tide. It was as if she were the moon, tugging at him, drawing him closer in an eternal dance. He covered by moving to tend to the coals in the ingenious portable brazier Donatello had built, settling the pot of water more firmly into their heat.

_**It's the heart, afraid of breaking**_  
><em><strong>That never learns to dance.<strong>_

He cleared his throat. "We are ready, my son," he called.

Michelangelo entered the room slowly, wearing a silk _hakama_ borrowed from Donatello and carrying a tray of small dishes.

"I brought everything, Sensei…" Michelangelo began to babble an explanation, but Splinter silenced him with a fatherly Look. "Sorry, Sensei. I mean, I was having a hard time keeping everything in order, and I was afraid the rice would get cold…" Splinter let him ramble on for a few more seconds before holding up a hand to stop the stream.

_I will have to practice the ceremony with them again before we visit anyone,_ thought Splinter. _Imagine such laxity of tradition in the presence of the Damiyo or The Ancient One._

"It is all right, Michelangelo," he said, taking the tray from the Turtle with a smile. "Thank you, my son. I will serve the meal."

Michelangelo at least remembered to bow respectfully.

"_Doomo arigatoo,_ Michelangelo," said Lucille gently.

The youngest Turtle beamed. "You're welcome, Luci. Enjoy your date, guys."

Splinter shot his son a glare, but Mikey left the room, apparently oblivious. He sighed, and Lucille startled him by giggling. He met her eyes, shocked for an instant, before a chuckle escaped him.

_Some things never change,_ he thought fondly. _I hope I may hear her laughter often… and that it always sounds as beautiful as it does today._

_**It's the dream, afraid of waking  
>That never takes the chance.<strong>_

Carefully, he laid out the first small dishes, removing Lucille's lid for her. The aroma of the sautéed mushrooms rose up, mingling with the other scents, lying rich as butter on the air. Lucille breathed deeply in appreciation.

"_Itadakimasu," _she said, pronouncing the word carefully.

Splinter smiled and nodded toward the _hashi, _and she picked them up carefully, adjusting her grip. The first mushroom slipped away from her questing chopsticks, and her brow furrowed slightly in concentration. Splinter found himself staring, his own food growing cold, as she bit her lip in concentration. He smiled at her quiet "ah ha" of triumph. She popped the mushroom into her mouth, her brown eyes shining with satisfaction.

Splinter ate his own meal slowly. The fish and rice dish was next. Lucille had far less trouble with the small chunks of white fish and sticky rice. Her confidence seemed to grow as she picked up the small pieces. They ate in companionable silence, savoring each bite. The clear _miso_ soup course was far easier for Lucille to manage. Her eyes sparkled with humor over the rim of her cup, and Splinter smiled as he sipped his own soup. The meal ended with the sweet _wagashi_. Splinter savored the nutty treat, surprised at the quality.

_Michelangelo has outdone himself_, he thought. _My sons never cease to amaze me. He seems to know how special this evening is meant to be, even though I allowed only Austin and Donatello to know of my intentions. Austin for her blessing, and Donatello for his assistance in acquiring…_

Splinter hesitated. The weight in the pouch of his robe seemed to be growing heavier with each passing moment, but he couldn't gather the courage to carry out his plan. Not yet.

_**It's the one who won't be taken**_  
><em><strong><em>Who cannot seem to give<em>  
><strong>_

When Lucille'd cleaned every last tidbit from her plate, she sat back with a sigh, carefully laying the _hashi_ in their wooden holder. She'd even remembered to point them politely to the left.

"_Gochisosama."_ Lucille thanked him for the meal.

Splinter bowed his head in acknowledgement, smiling at her pronunciation. The next part of the ceremony was the most emotional for him, and he took a moment to breathe deeply and gather himself before drawing the ceremonial silk _kobukusa _cloth from his belt_. _Gently, he gathered his master's own small tea-dish into his hands. He set it carefully on the floor in front of him before retrieving the pot of powdered tea and placing it directly behind the bowl.

Lucille jumped when he prepared the _kobukusa _by giving it a sharp _snap_. When her brown eyes flicked back to his face, he nearly lost his concentration. Splinter cleared his throat, purposely settling his emotions once more into calm as he brought to mind the proper folding of the _kobukusa_. Lucille's eyes never left his hands as he moved through the traditional preparations. Using the _kobukusa_ as a mitt, he opened the lid of the brazier, setting it carefully aside. His elbow brushed the small bulge in the pouch of his belt, and he felt heat rise in his face, but moved on determinedly with the ceremony, trying to ignore her questioning glance.

_**And the soul, afraid of dying  
>That never learns to live.<strong>_

The motions were like a dance, long forgotten and newly remembered, as he dipped the long-handled ladle into the water and poured it into the bowl. He rinsed the bamboo whisk, swirling it carefully in the hot water, before setting it aside. He was aware of Lucille watching his every move as he tilted the bowl, rinsing it carefully before pouring out the water. He wiped the already immaculate china with the white _chakin_.

Once the ceremonial cleaning of the implements was complete, he scooped the _matcha_ into the dish, followed by water taken from the brazier with the ladle. The bamboo whisk made a soft clicking sound against the tea bowl as he whipped the powder carefully into the water until the _koicha_ reached its desired, frothy consistency, the slightly sweet, grassy scent of the tea mixing with the incense and delicate fragrance of the flowers and the indefinable essence of the woman sitting across from him.

Splinter gave a ceremonial bow, holding the dish of tea out to Lucille. She drew forth her own silk square from the breast of the kimono and took the dish reverently, with such gentleness, tears stung Splinter's eyes. He had not cried for Yoshi in many years, but the ceremony, the scents the sounds and moving through the traditional motions, brought memories back as clearly as if he were reliving the past, as if Tang Shen her self were present, serving tea to his master.

_**When the night has been too lonely**_  
><em><strong>And the road has been too long<strong>_

"It's beautiful," said Lucille softly. She looked closer at the design and patina age had given the precious dish before turning it expertly, once, twice, and taking a small sip. Splinter met her eyes, and felt warmth climbing into his cheeks, knowing she had caught him staring. Lucille seemed to sense his discomfort, and looked away in her gentle manner, her gaze landing on the shallow dish of flowers he'd arranged on the table.

Splinter's blush deepened. He'd chosen the flowers with careful deliberation, daisies for faith and in memory of their fateful walk in the park, and dark red carnations, reminiscent of the one he'd plucked for her. The forget-me-nots stood for the true love she had so faithfully offered, and in the center, a single, perfect red rose.

_**And you think that love is only  
>For the lucky and the strong<strong>_

Lucille's eyes never left his face as she returned the dish. Her fingers brushed his own, sending thrills racing through him as he cradled it in his hands. Perfectly aware that he was breaking with tradition, he deliberately turned the dish so that he drank from the same place, before setting it carefully back on the table, ending the most formal part of the ceremony.

"_Doomo arigato gozaimasu_, Splinter-san."

Lucille's accent made Splinter smile, and his heart swelled with emotion at the careful way she spoke the newly-learned words as she leaned forward into a formal bow of thanks.

"_Doo itashimashite_. You are most welcome, Lucille-san."

Carefully, acutely aware of the small weight at his side, he rinsed the dish once more, completing the ritual cleansing, before gathering the precious implements, his master's tea dish, the ladle Tang Shen had used to serve the same ceremony in the home of The Ancient One, and the small, cracked tea pot Donatello had given him one Christmas soon after the boys earned the right to venture to the surface without him.

One by one, he set the pieces carefully into their places. Raphael had built the _chabako_ when he was young and in a stage of intense interest in woodworking. Splinter could see the marks of the chisel Raphael had used to shape each depression for the implements to rest in. He remembered the focus it had taken a young, emotionally volatile Turtle to work with such patience, and couldn't help a smile.

Folding the silk _kobukusa_ cloths Leonardo had hand-sewn as an awkward teenager, and laying them over Yoshi's dish as an extra measure of protection, he closed the lid. Splinter smoothed his hand over the kanji Michelangelo'd painted carefully on the surface, memories filling him with pride. Lucille watched him with a knowing smile, and to Splinter the earth seemed to tilt for a moment, pausing in its slow spin around the sun, as he gazed into her face, amazed again that destiny had brought them together.

_How is it that we two, from such diverse worlds, have been woven together by the strands of fate?_ he wondered, not for the first time. _This meeting, this moment in time, cannot exist again. A wise man knows there is a time to act, that an opportunity, once lost, can never be retrieved._

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he reached into the hidden pouch at his side, drawing forth a small leather wrapped bundle. His hands trembled only slightly as he carefully unfastened the outer leather layer, revealing the silk wrapping underneath.

"Splinter?" Lucille barely breathed his name, the question hanging unasked.

He glanced up, feeling as uncertain as the first morning he'd woken in his humble Den to find four newly-mutated infant Turtles staring at him.

"Lucille, I…" he hesitated.

"Yes?"

She was watching him now, expectantly, and he knew there was no going back. Splinter drew a deep, steadying breath.

"Lucille-san." His voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat. "I…" He paused, holding out the precious, tiny silk wrapping. "If I may, to present you with a gift?"

He held his breath as her fingers brushed his palm. To Splinter's surprise, she did not lift the bundle from his hand, but left it resting in his hand as she tugged the corners of the silk loose, opening the loose envelope to reveal the sparkle of a golden band set with a single, heart shaped jade. The very jade she'd worn for another for so many years, and had given to him as a token of what lay between them now. To remember her by, she'd said then, but he'd known that she was giving him something more than a memory. She'd given him her heart.

He heard her breath catch, and felt a chill.

_**Just remember, in the winter**_  
><em><strong>Far beneath the bitter snow<strong>_

_What am I doing? I am _such_ an old fool…_

Splinter's heart sped up and he had a nearly uncontrollable urge to snatch his hand away, to flee the room entirely…

Lucille's fingers covered his palm, resting lightly against his hand, soft, familiar, comforting. He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze. The understanding there made it possible for him to breathe again.

"Lucille-san, I… I have been foolish in the past, but today I wish to speak with you of the future."

"Splinter, are you asking me to… stay with you?"

He bowed his head to hide the emotions warring within him. Longing. Embarrassment. Confusion. And over them all, a steady hum of nerves.

_If she refuses me, how will I ever look my family in the eyes again? How will I survive? I have lived so long under ground, to enter the sunlight was breathtaking… but to return to a life alone after knowing such joy… It is surely more than I can bear._

Gathering his courage, he forced himself to look up again.

"I am."

Lucille didn't look away as she picked the ring up, placing it gently in his other hand. It lay warm against his palm, reflecting the candlelight with shimmers of gold and green. He stared stupidly for a moment, the weight of disappointment settling on him, before he realized she was holding her free hand out to him expectantly. As if in a dream, he slid the ring onto her finger. Tears traced Lucille's cheeks, but her eyes glowed.

"I would be honored, Splinter, to spend the rest of my life at your side."

_**Lies the seed  
>That with the sun's love, in the spring<br>Becomes the rose.**_

Without conscious thought, Splinter reached out. Lucille grasped his hand, their fingers intertwining as naturally as if they'd always belonged together, a puzzle completed as the final piece fell into place. Splinter gazed into her brown eyes, and felt his ancestors smile.

* * *

><p><strong>A quick vocabulary lesson-<strong>

_**Kanji**_**: a type of Japanese writing used in decorative scroll-work.  
><strong>_**habashi**_**: Literally, chopsticks. Metal **_**habashi**_** are used to tend the coals (when coals are used) in a tea ceremony.  
><strong>_**tatami:**_** thickly woven straw mats. They are laid out in certain patterns in Japanese rooms. Different patterns have different meanings and uses.  
><strong>_**doumo irasshaimase**_**: (Polite) 'Come in, take a seat'. (Thanks to Goddess Hanyuu for the vocab help!)  
><strong>_**Itadakimasu**_**- "I gratefully receive"- traditional polite response from a guest receiving a meal.  
><strong>_**gochisosama (deshita)**_**- "Thank you for the meal" – traditional thank you from a guest at the end of a meal.  
><strong>_**konichiwa**_**: 'hi'  
><strong>_**seiza**_**: A polite way of kneeling, with the toes pointed in and the rear resting on the heels, and the hands folded in the lap or resting on the thighs.  
><strong>_**hakama: **_**a silk jacket, traditionally worn for certain ceremonial purposes.  
><strong>_**wagashi**_**: A very specific type of sweet, traditionally served with the tea ceremony.  
><strong>_**kobukusa:**_** a special silk cloth, used for parts of the tea ceremony**_**  
>chakin:<strong>_** a white linen cloth, used for ceremonial cleansing of the implements**_**  
>matcha:<strong>_** green tea powder for making "thick" tea. Considered the best-quality tea.  
><strong>_**koicha:**_** 'thick' tea, made from **_**matcha**_** powder by stirring the powder into hot water with a bamboo whisk. Slightly sweet, grassy, and frothy.**_**  
>Doomo arigato gozaimasu<strong>_**: "Thank you very much", denotes great respect, as if speaking to a superior or offering respect to someone you admire.**_**  
>Doo itashimashite:<strong>_** "you're welcome, not at all."**_**  
>chabako:<strong>_** a special box designed for carrying the implements of a tea ceremony. Most often used for the items intended for an outdoor ceremony. The implements of a tea ceremony are often antique, precious and treasured. **


End file.
